


Oublier

by sephirothflame



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Double Penetration, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:11:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sephirothflame/pseuds/sephirothflame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Clint just needs a little help to move on and forget. Coulson and Natasha know how to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oublier

**Author's Note:**

> _oublier_ : v., to forget

Sometimes, Clint needs to forget. After countless days and weeks spent running one job or another, performing task after task until the mission is complete, he needs to be able to get lost in himself. Clint isn’t stupid enough to mistake relief for solace, but when the nights drag on and he can feel himself stretching thin, he’ll take what he can get.

It isn’t so bad, usually. Jobs are jobs, regardless of situation. Clint isn’t a Soldier, but he’ll do what has to be done when it’s asked of him. He’s quick and efficient and isn’t known for screwing up, unlike some people Clint could name.

There’s a feeling though, a lingering sensation that’s hard to banish. It’s hard to transition from _Hawkeye_ to _Clint_ when he doesn’t have anything to hold onto. As loathe as he is to admit it, Clint is haunted and he doesn’t know how to let that go.

The helpless feelings are at their worst when Natasha is away and Coulson is trailing after her. It’s not abandonment issues, because he knows their doing their jobs. For all that Clint likes being by himself though, he has a hard time coping with being alone.

It’s Coulson’s job as a handler to take care of him, even if this probably wasn’t what they SHIELD agent handbook meant. He knows how to give Clint his space when he needs to breathe, but more importantly, he knows how to call him back before he drifts away too far. There are rip currents of guilt and shame buried beneath everything else, and sometimes Clint strays too close and lets himself be dragged under.

Coulson doesn’t let that happen. He’s been Clint’s handler long enough to recognize the signs, but he knows how to handle him when it happens. If there’s one thing Coulson is good at, it’s giving commands. He forces Clint to do paperwork, to spar with handicaps and to grind with weapons that have no practical purpose in battle. Coulson knows when he’s pushing too hard and he knows how to step back, leaving Clint to climb up in the ceiling and explore air ducts and nap in the open space above Coulson’s office.

When Clint is ready to come down, he’ll come down. He doesn’t mind when Natasha joins him, but she never coaxes him down from his perches unless something is going on. Her expressions say more than her words ever will, but she tends to tuck her face against his shoulder or neck and let the silence talk for them. Natasha is about as good with words as Clint is and Clint prefers the comfort of her body more than her words, anyways.

Clint feels guilty about it sometimes; curling up with Natasha and just breathing in each other’s space while Coulson is left to fret and carry on below them. It’s easier with her, because she’s been through many the same experiences as he has. At least that’s what Clint tells himself to rationalize it in his head.

He’s already emotionally codependent on the both of them. He’ll even admit it, when it comes to Natasha. Opening up and letting Coulson in is hard enough as is. Clint isn’t sure he knows how to let himself be comforted by a man who’ll pet his hair and hum rock ballads under his breath until Clint falls asleep on top of him.

Clint needs Coulson, though. It might have taken years for him to realize it and for Coulson to as well, but it’s there. It’s terrifying. Clint isn’t used to needing anyone. He makes a habit of not making connections of any sort, because he knows how much it hurts to get screwed over and stabbed in the back.

Coulson is always ready for Clint to come down though. He’s gotten good about saying nothing when Clint shows up on his couch or crawls into his bed out of the blue. Coulson’s got a habit of leaving room for Clint and Natasha in his life without ever expecting them to be there. How he does is, is beyond Clint.

Though, Clint confesses, he does like the way Coulson’s fingers feel when they brush along his hairline on the back of his neck. Sleeping is always easier in Coulson’s bed, too, tangled up with the handler and Natasha. It’s easy to not care about anything when he’s got the two of them within arm’s reach and away from anyone who can hurt them. Anyone but himself.

And on the nights when being force-fed slightly overcooked boxed macaroni by Natasha and having his legs thrown over Coulson’s lap isn’t enough to distract him from his murky thoughts and the treacherous depths below, Coulson and Natasha know how to take care of him then, too.

It isn’t as terrifying as it should be for Clint to give up his control. He does it often enough for work, but it’s one thing for Hawkeye to follow every command he’s given and another for Clint to kneel naked in the middle of the bed he shares with the only two people he’s ever loved like this. Clint should be fighting this with everything he has, but he trusts Coulson not to hurt him and that’s honestly more terrifying than anything else Clint has ever been through.

Coulson never does hurt him though. Even when he’s got Clint tied to the headboard or bound with rope, he never does anything that Clint can’t handle or ask for. It’s why Clint is okay with being told to go down on Natasha while Coulson’s slick fingers open him up. All of this is within Clint’s comfort zone; he doesn’t actually need to be told to do it to obey.

If Clint had to choose his happiest place on earth, it would here; his head between Natasha’s thighs and teasing her clit until even she starts to moan and the gentle rub of Coulson’s fingers over his prostate before he pulls them out and replaces them with his cock. That first moment when he’s being breached, where his heart skips a beat and he can feel a moan rumbling in his chest even as he sucks and licks at Natasha, that’s what Clint wants to remember forever.

It doesn’t matter that they don’t stay that way. Even when Coulson rolls onto his back and Clint straddles his hips, Natasha pressing close behind him and whispering in his ear, Clint knows he’s going to be okay. It doesn’t stop him from pressing his palms against Coulson’s chest and riding him slowly and he doesn’t push Natasha away when her fingers press against his hole, already slick and cold.

Clint isn’t one to turn down sex, and he wouldn’t dream of it when Natasha and Coulson are involved. The feeling of being torn apart at the seams is more than worth it if it means making room for Coulson and Natasha inside of him. The tightness in his chest, the ache in his spine, sweaty palms and labored breathes, they’re all worth it.

Because, like this, with Coulson’s hands on his hips and whispered promises against his skin, Natasha’s nipples pressing against his sweaty back and the way her favorite silicone cock rubs against Coulson’s own inside of Clint, it’s easy to get lost in the good pain and forget about the bad. When Clint is trapped between them, moving together for a mutual release before crashing back down together in a sweaty, tangled heap – all those things that fuck with Clint and leave him broken, even for a little while, they’re impossible not to forget.


End file.
